


Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist

by glassonion_archivist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-25
Updated: 2004-03-25
Packaged: 2019-06-19 10:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15508314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassonion_archivist/pseuds/glassonion_archivist
Summary: It's a family affair. Okay, not really.





	Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Glass Onion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Glass_Onion), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Glass Onion’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/glassonion/profile).

Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist

 

 

## Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist

### by Te

Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist  
by Te  
March 23, 2004 

Disclaimers: If they were mine, I'd be busy. I'm just saying. 

Spoilers: Various little ones for various books. Takes place somewhere in a fudged current timeline. 

Summary: It's a family affair. Okay, not really. 

Ratings Note: NC-17. 

Author's Note: The convergence of many a bunny. Third (and possibly last) part of the Natural Law series, located here: 

<http://teland.com/dc.html#nat>

Acknowledgments: To Jack, Reilael, and L.C. for audiencing and helpful thoughts. 

* 

Robin is spending a great deal of time in Bldhaven. 

The thought is not a particularly ominous one -- Robin and Nightwing have nearly always worked well together, with little personal friction to make them anything less than absolutely effective. And Nightwing has never been unwilling to work with a partner, even one he _didn't_ care for. 

It has always been... soothing to watch Nightwing work with Robin. With Jason, certainly, and the reasons for that are both legion and (still) difficult to consider, and with Tim. To know that for all of _their_ differences, Dick would be willing to allow Batman's partners into his life. 

As though Dick would ever be petty enough _not_ to, but... still. 

Soothing. 

Of course, there are other concerns. 

Nightwing, despite his deeply social nature, is nearly as territorial as any of the rest of them, and he doesn't welcome intrusions into his city without reason. If he _did_ require help, he would ask for it. And... it isn't as though he _wouldn't_ ask Robin -- the boy is an excellent soldier, and no one could ever doubt it -- it's just that there is nothing _he_ can find that would suggest Nightwing _does_ need assistance. 

And Oracle would not fail to share information if there was a need. 

As for Robin... 

His own patrols are being done. A few moments listening in on the police band is enough to confirm that much. A quick trip through the territories the boy has made his own sets it in stone. 

If Batgirl were covering for him, the criminals left zip-stripped and occasionally labeled for the police's benefit would be more injured. The same is true for Huntress -- assuming she _would_. 

Spoiler's work has never been so precise. 

Still, with this much done, and at this time of night, Robin _should_ be headed back to his home. And while it is certainly possible both that the boy would not wish to be home right away _and_ that he would want to discuss whatever problems he may or may not be having with Nightwing -- and no one _but_ Nightwing -- 

There are other concerns. 

Wordless, for the most part. 

Batman has learned to trust his instincts. 

The trip to Bldhaven is only somewhat challenging. He does not wish to be noticed, but Robin's cycle is as riddled with tracers as all of their vehicles, and the boy has not removed any of them. This is reassuring on a number of levels. Tim has always understood the necessity of such matters, of course, but Batman has also learned to fear... recklessness. 

Of any sort. 

He follows, from the shadows, and fights the desire to wallow in aging memory. Better to rifle -- once more -- through more recent encounters, in case there was something he may have missed, or disregarded. 

Batgirl had not expressed concern of any sort for Robin, and Oracle's reports, while ever detailed, had not included anything of special interest regarding the boy's movements. 

Robin's own reports had, of course, included nothing to flag his concern, but the boy has always had a tendency towards a certain... protectiveness. 

He has never wished Batman to worry about him, or have reason to do so. There has always been a possibility -- however small -- that this tendency would lead Robin to hide _essential_ information, even despite the boy's equally powerful compunction toward safety. 

_He_ hasn't patrolled with the boy in... quite some time. There are reasons for this -- there are always reasons. The most recent business with Superman, a handful of his own   
investigations. _Robin's_ own investigations, and the fact that the boy has been more than capable of working on his own for years, now. 

No Man's Land had been a terrible -- and terribly effective -- proving ground. 

There is, however, a kind of sneaking, crawling sensation of 'excuse.' 

There are other reasons why he has worked with Robin so little in recent months, and the vast majority of them are distressingly personal. 

The simple fact of the matter is that he has been a less than adequate partner to the boy, and nothing remotely resembling a friend. He has never wanted to be a confidante to his partners, and it is nothing short of a relief that Robin -- Tim -- appears to have the same attitude about _him_ , and yet... 

It says very little about him, and, at the same time, it says far too much. 

Batman frowns to himself and taps at the wheel. He will find out as much as he can, and then he will... confronting Robin about it might not be the best way. He will make a decision based on what he learns. 

And he will, perhaps, make himself more available. There's a nasty sort of humor in the fact that 'make himself' seems so apt a phrase, even after everything that has happened over the years. 

He should know better. 

Knowing should be... easier. 

Batman laughs behind his face and checks the movement on his internal maps. The red dot for Robin heads steadily south, toward Bldhaven's center. He allows the Batmobile to close more of the distance, counting on the increased population density to mask his own   
movements. 

The advantage to working within cities, even when they are not as large as Gotham. 

The dot stops moving, and... Batman knows the location. Robin is either inside or near to one of the garages Nightwing has bought and adapted for his own use. He switches to monitoring the tracers within Robin's suit. 

The boy heads east, and Batman follows in the car for some distance before leaving it in one of Bldhaven's innumerable filth-ridden and convenient alleys. His remote picks up Robin's signal clearly, and it's tempting to pick up the pace -- it's far easier to be subtle on foot, and even in the air -- and yet. 

He has no tracers whatsoever on Nightwing, and while he could tap into whatever Oracle has on him, the act would raise too many questions. 

He stays within the shadows, and moves slowly and carefully. He can't allow the mugging he passes to continue, but he does not use his own materials to tie the man in question, instead improvising with a handy length of discarded cable. 

And continues the tracking. 

The red dot has been still for sometime, in no special location that Batman can figure out. Perhaps the boy is doing some surveillance. 

It _would_ be in character for Nightwing to ask for help in observation, and to do it casually enough that it wouldn't flag Oracle's alerts or his own, and Robin would assuredly offer his own assistance. 

Closer, and there's a flash of yellow from the rooftop of an unassuming brownstone. Batman heads for a neighboring building and climbs instead of using his jumpline. Security and subtlety. The boy knows the sound of a grapple far too well. 

As does Nightwing, of course. 

And... 

Perhaps the strangest thing about it is the refutation of his own expectations. He has had many, many years to train himself away from such things, to learn the often _deadly_ dangers of assumption, and yet... 

He never would have expected this. 

Nightwing's hands are on Robin's face, cupping and tilting it for a better angle. Robin's hands are hidden by their bodies, and Batman thinks... He isn't sure _what_ to think, because Nightwing's moan is shockingly loud (quiet for _him_ , though) in the clear, cool night air. 

He does not stop kissing Robin for a long time, not until Robin's left arm is around the back of his neck, and it seems... 

A _strange_ time to pause, but there is movement under the cape on Robin's right side, and Nightwing throws his head back entirely, and Bruce can _feel_ that moan. He can... 

He has all the answers he needs. 

He dives from the roof, forgetting not to use his grapple until it's too late, and he feels his face trying to heat behind the mask. 

No one -- neither of them follows. 

It's entirely possible they are distracted. 

It's time to go back to Gotham. 

* 

Batman waits within the Cave. There is a bookmaker on the West side he'd planned to visit tonight, but the little parlor isn't far beyond the edges of Batgirl's usual patrols, and she does not question the assignment. 

Huntress was... suspicious about his request that she focus her attentions on Batman's usual areas of the city, but also didn't question. There is much to fear about the woman's control -- and lack thereof -- but she is an effective operative. Oracle has a line open into the Cave from her end, waiting for an explanation of the change in routine. He has closed it from his end. Oracle can be patient, for this. 

And Robin, barring unforeseen emergency, had likely slipped out of his house to make his way here... between thirty and forty-five minutes ago. 

Batman waits at the console. 

It does not take long. 

The boy is nearly soundless in his approach from the Cave's secret entrance, of course, but Batman has known this Cave and its particular qualities for far longer than _any_ of the others, and Robin is not as careful as he could be, here. 

The scrape of a foot along the ground, an exhaled breath. 

Silence. 

His presence has been noted. Batman waits for the boy to say something, or perhaps express surprise, but... there's nothing. 

And then noticeably less casual motion toward his equipment. Batman narrows his eyes and spins the chair around. The boy is stripping out of his street clothes with the same efficiency as ever. There is nothing in his body language to suggest... anything at all, really. 

The marks on his skin are ambiguous. There's something ugly in the fact that he can't -- quite -- separate whatever bruises the boy has taken in fights from whatever bruises Dick -- Nightwing -- has left in his... their... 

"It has to stop," he says, before he has entirely decided _to_ speak. 

Robin freezes, tights halfway up his legs. And then he finishes pulling them up before turning to face him, one eyebrow raised. 

"It's... not a good idea." 

A smile, and it's... far more of a Tim smile, if he's honest with himself. _Robin's_ smiles are entirely more open. "I could ask what 'it' is, but one, I don't believe in being disingenuous, and two, I can only think of _one_ thing I'm doing that you might disapprove of. So..." 

"Then you already know that it isn't something you should be doing." Which is... a relief. 

"No, I know it's something _you_ wouldn't approve of. Which isn't the same thing at all." 

"Tim --" 

"Look, you don't _really_ want to have this conversation, and neither do I, so... let's just _not_ , okay?" 

Bruce blinks behind the cowl. 

Tim turns back to his suit and continues getting dressed. 

Tim is, of course, correct. He _doesn't_ want to have the conversation, and yet. Tim closes the distance between them, arms folded beneath his cape. 

"I'll make it easy on you, Bruce. _If_ I decide to stop? It _won't_ be because of anything _you_ can tell me." 

It's not the sort of response he'd expected, though perhaps he should have. Tim does not have anything resembling the typical sort of attitude toward relationships. He has proven, time and again, that he is willing to put them where they belong -- in a secondary position to the mission. 

He has not offered anything resembling a defense of his relationship with Dick, and even now he is nothing but professional. Waiting for Bruce to accept his firm -- and _casual_ \-- refusal to allow Bruce any inroads into his personal life. 

Into... Dick's. 

Tim narrows his eyes behind the mask, and cocks his head. Slightly. "And _I'm_ not the one you want to protect, right Bruce?" 

Tim is a good soldier, and an excellent detective. 

Dick deserves... better. Bruce closes his eyes beneath the mask. "Fine. I was thinking we could patrol --" 

Tim's laugh is sharp, brief, and sincere. "And now you actually want to patrol _with_ me. Gonna get me good and tired, Bruce? Work me until dawn? Call me in on my night off?" 

The idea has merit. 

Tim takes a small, deliberate step closer. "I know you. The _real_ you. I've been watching you my whole life, remember?" 

"And?" 

"Give me a reason, Bruce. Just _one_ reason. And we can make things nice and complicated." 

Bruce crosses one leg over his knee and leans back, slowly, and with equal deliberation. "Most people who 'know' me also tend to know that it's not a good idea to _threaten_ me." 

"Most people have no _idea_ what to threaten you _with_." 

And _that's_ a Robin smile, the reason for which becomes clear... immediately. 

"What's the deal, Tim? I thought I was meeting you... Bruce." 

"Nightwing." And Tim hasn't stopped smiling at him. 

"These silent communicators sure are _handy_ , aren't they, Bruce?" 

"Yes. They are." 

Movement out of the corner of his eye, and Bruce looks over to see Dick shifting on his feet, slightly. And it _is_ Dick, even in uniform. Nightwing's energy is high, but far, far more focused. Dick narrows his eyes at Tim's back before looking back at _him_. 

"You know, I'm not going to ask if there's anything going on, mainly because I'm _not_ an idiot, so I'm just going to ask if there's anything going on that _I_ need to know about." 

"Good question, Dick." Tim isn't smiling at all, anymore. " _Is_ there, Bruce?" 

He can feel his jaw working and stops it. The best possible response is 'no,' or nothing at all. There is work to be done -- there is _always_ work to be done. 

But both of those answers would leave things precisely as they stand now, with Tim -- 

He blinks at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, large and warmer than it should seem through the suit. Through Dick's gloves. His sense memory has much to answer for. 

"Bruce..." Dick's face is... twisted with worry. "What's wrong?" 

He brushes Dick's hand away from him, registering and loathing the moment of hurt, and wondering how many times Tim has done something similar. "Nothing," he says, and stands, moving toward the vehicles. 

"What -- wait, _what_?" 

"He knows," Tim says, and... 

Bruce doesn't stumble. A victory is not a victory unless it is complete, and Bruce had apparently not agreed to Tim's bargain fast enough for Tim's liking. He is not surprised. There is nothing to be done about it. He stops, and turns. 

Dick is staring at Tim, shock obvious even with his mask. There have been times over the years when Bruce has thought not even a full cowl would help with that. This is one of them. 

Tim nods back toward Bruce. 

And Dick... tenses. There is the same sort of... reluctance in his body language as had been there when Dick had told him about his relationship with Barbara. The same _trepidation_ , as though... 

As though he would ever... 

"Bruce. It isn't... I didn't --" 

"Don't," he says, and tries not to see Dick wince. And if there was ever more _concrete_ proof that this... _thing_ with Tim shouldn't be allowed to happen -- 

Tim's only response to his glare is a raised eyebrow. Bruce can see Dick staring at both of them, and he can _feel_ him not understanding the undercurrents. Because Dick has never _truly_ trusted his instincts in regards to Bruce. 

And it's something Bruce has used, with the sickly, heartfelt gratitude it deserves. And it will not last, unless... "Tim. I will not interfere in your... relationships." 

"Funny how you've given me absolutely _no_ reason to believe that, and every reason to believe the _opposite_ , Bruce." 

"Tim --" 

Tim stops Dick with a hand on his chest, proprietary and still so _casual_. "No, Dick, actually I think it's time we have this out. _All_ of it." 

"No," Bruce says, and knows he doesn't sound as firm as he would wish. 

"No? That -- that _bullshit_ with Steph was one thing, Bruce, but I _know_ you. If you couldn't stop _fucking_ around with me with _her_ , why the hell should I think you will now?" 

"Because I keep my promises." 

"And you're actually making one? About _Dick_?" 

Dick covers Tim's hand with his own, as ever as though there was nothing profound about that sort of contact. He watches Tim _feel_ it, and bites the inside of his own cheek. 

"Tim, I think... I mean... aren't you the one who always says it's _better_ when we don't try to make Bruce talk about this stuff?" Dick's smile is weak and false, and Bruce knows -- he _knows_ \-- the man can feel Bruce's eyes on him. 

Tim's mouth twists into something harsh for a brief, terrible moment before settling back into blankness. "He's protecting _you_ now, Bruce. What do you think _that_ tells me?" 

That he isn't yours. That you should _stop_. 

And Dick is... it's something like an abortive hand _massage_ , and Bruce can see Tim working to ignore it, and... it should be reassuring. That he _isn't_ as unaffected as he wishes to be, but. 

No one in Dick's life _should_ be unaffected. They shouldn't try. He should have -- 

"He _wants_ you, Dick. He always has." 

Dick's hand freezes over Tim's own, and Bruce knows Tim is feeling that, too. 

"He thinks I'm not good enough for you. And he's not going to deny _any_ of it." 

Bruce watches Dick breathe. Watches him _flush_ , and tighten his hand on Tim's own, apparently hard enough to make Tim wince. He needs to -- 

"Bruce...?" 

Leave. He needs to _leave_ , and stop staring at Dick. He hasn't been fair, even within the confines of his own mind. There is a great deal of difference between the emotion Dick shows when he's trying to be subtle, and the emotion he shows when he isn't, at all. 

So much passion. _Too_ much, even with his hand still tight around Tim's own. Even with Tim actively trying to get _free_. 

"Dick. You should --" 

"Shut up." 

Tim jerks as though he's been slapped, and tenses hard under Dick's gaze. 

"I don't know _what_ game you're playing, but now I really _want_ to." Dick turns back to him, and there's anger and confusion, and... Dick reaches for his mask, tearing at it, and a part of Bruce's mind wants to be snide, to suggest there'd be no difference. 

That part is an _idiot_ , and he still can't move. Or even look away. 

"Dick, wait, you --" 

Dick glares at Tim again, but Tim just raises his other hand slowly. He's holding the spray bottle of the solvent they both use. Dick takes it from him, and uses it, slipping off his mask and immediately turning the bottle back on Tim. 

Who pauses for just a moment before turning his face up. 

The intimacy is obvious, the symbolism frighteningly so. Both make it _impossible_ to look away. Bruce watches Dick search Tim's eyes, and watches him nod as though they answer any questions at all. 

And then Dick looks at _him_ again, just as searchingly, and Bruce has to remind himself that he _is_ wearing the cowl, that there's still room, still some quiet, cowardly _hope_ of escape. 

"Bruce." 

And all he has to do is stop staring at Dick's eyes and _leave_. 

"I'm not going to pretend I know exactly what I want, Bruce. It's been too long for that. I don't... there's been too much. But." 

Dick's uniform is much too thin, thin enough that Bruce can see him swallow. And Tim isn't trying to get away anymore. He's reaching up to cup Dick's face even as he looks a very clear, obvious dare at Bruce. 

"Tim...? Wait --" 

Bruce watches Tim brush one gauntleted thumb over Dick's mouth. Watches Dick's eyes widen, slightly, and listens to himself breathe like something hurt. Control. He has to -- there has to be _something_ \-- 

"Show him what he can _have_ , Dick. Show me what _I_ can have." 

Dick's hand tightens again on Tim's own, but this time Tim doesn't wince at all. This is unacceptable, inappropriate, and _obscene_ , and it's precisely as shocking, as _compelling_ as it was to see it on that rooftop. 

Dick kisses Tim with an anger that isn't nearly as brutal as it should be, and it's... there are questions that have no place within Bruce's own mind. How much of the hunger is natural to Dick, and how much of it is natural to Dick with _Tim_. 

Wouldn't it make a difference? 

He has never thought about Tim this way, not seriously and never with any degree of intent high enough to require repression. Because Tim has never had the sort of carefree passion that Bruce knows himself well enough to know he has a _weakness_ for. 

Nothing in Tim inspires weakness. 

And there is an undeniable fascination in the way he accepts _this_ kiss. In the way he moans for Dick, the way he moves up onto his toes and clutches Dick's shoulders. 

An attraction in _his_ hunger that is absolutely understandable, in precisely the same way that Bruce -- that _none_ of them -- has never been able to hold back a smile when an opponent weakens visibly. 

There is, perhaps, room for improvement in his partnership with Tim. 

The only relief when Dick breaks the kiss and turns back to face _him_ again is that he cannot possibly laugh. Dick's mouth is... wet. 

Faintly swollen. 

Bruce licks the backs of his teeth. Tim is no longer looking at him, his head turned to face somewhere past Dick's far shoulder. His breathing is steadier than Dick's, but also deeper. 

Dick bites his lower lip half-absently, and reaches out. Bruce feels himself _seize_ inside, and it's a tension that he knows, that he's _resisted_. But he had the crutch of Dick's lack of confidence about them, about _this_. 

And all he has now is Dick's dark, heated gaze and the hand in his own and -- 

" _Bruce_ ," whispered against his mouth, _into_ his mouth on a long, low moan, and Dick squeezes his fingers _hard_ and licks his tongue. And shudders, once, half-opening his eyes before pulling Bruce in closer and deepening the kiss. He twists his hand free from Bruce's and curls it around the back of his head and -- pauses. 

Pulling back. 

Bruce feels his hands snap into fists and does not move. 

Dick pants and stares at his mouth before looking up again. "Off. The cowl. You -- I'm not making love to the Bat." 

The Bat doesn't _deserve_ \-- 

Bruce pushes the cowl back and hears a gasp. It isn't Dick. 

Tim is... right there, still, eyes wide and unreadable, one hand still clasped with Dick's. He pulls it down while Bruce watches, slipping it beneath his cape until all Bruce can see is... motion. 

And the flush rising on Tim's face. 

And then Dick's other hand is on _his_ face, and Bruce turns to find Dick smiling at him, open and rueful. The fingers slip into Bruce's hair, and it's an effort not to slip his eyes shut, just for a moment. 

"I've wanted..." Dick's laugh is a little choked. "I never pictured it like _this_." 

Tim snorts beside them, and then gasps while Dick's eyes narrow. 

"What..." Are you doing to him. Bruce can't quite ask. 

Dick's eyes widen again, though. "I'm... he's wearing too much armor. But I can still..." 

Tim _groans_ , shifting beside them, and Bruce feels his lips part. 

"Do you want --" 

It's far, far easier to kiss Dick again than it is to let him finish that thought. Desire is problematic precisely because it gets out of control so quickly, so easily. He never would've considered that sucking Dick's tongue would ever feel safer than... anything. 

He isn't sure whether he wants to thank Tim or strangle him. 

He _sounds_ strangled, and Bruce cups Dick's shoulders just so... yes. He can feel the muscles working in the left one. The right when Dick reaches an arm around Bruce's waist and pulls him _in_ that last, terrifyingly important step. And Dick bites his lip and then drags his mouth over Bruce's cheek, over to his ear. 

"I want you. I want both of you, and I never _wanted_ to want _either_ of you. But Tim is hard in my hand and you feel so good it _hurts_ and you can't stop. You can't _stop_." 

Bruce hears a growl, and doesn't realize that it's his own until they're on the floor. He watches himself _moving_ Dick, and it's the body he's wanted for much too long, all lean muscle and endless motion. The desire to hold Dick _still_ is not new. The flare of hungry _familiarity_ when Tim drops to his knees and grabs Dick's hips.. is. 

He pulls Dick back against his chest and carefully, deliberately looks at Tim. 

And waits until Tim drags his own eyes up from the temptation of Dick's form. There is... 

Tim has been a good partner, and often a better partner than he deserves. And it is this feeling that he's craved the most with the boy, this mutual recognition of dark, wordless _need_ , and a body between them, or before them. 

The body had, before, always been bleeding -- if only externally. 

Dick is... writhing. Rolling like a living wave in nothing like pain. Bruce wraps one arm around Dick's chest and pulls him back against him, pulls him in much too _hard_. 

"Possessive," Tim says. "I'm shocked." 

Dick laughs easily, and easily reaches up to curl one arm around the back of Bruce's neck, tilting his own head up and back. "Kiss me again." 

Bruce uses his free hand to tilt Dick's chin up further and obeys, and feels himself start to sweat beneath the suit at the sound -- the _feel_ \-- of Dick's low, pleased moan. 

And then Dick cries out _loudly_ into Bruce's mouth and pushes closer, sucking his tongue, and Bruce opens his eyes. 

Tim has worked Dick's tights and jock down around his thighs, and Tim is _on_ Dick. Sucking him. 

He wants -- 

"Oh... _God_." Dick clutches Bruce tighter, nuzzling wetly at his jaw. 

He wants absolutely everything. He slips his free hand -- he cannot make himself move the other from around Dick's chest -- down between them, cupping Dick's ass, and the _feel_ of him... 

Smooth skin and muscle, heat, _motion_ , and all of it so perfect, so much of everything he's tried so hard not to think about, not to _need_ , and he can't -- He breathes raggedly against Dick's forehead and slides a finger down into his cleft. 

" _Oh_ \--" And Dick bucks and Tim makes a small, surprised sound and looks up at Bruce. 

Another flare between them, another moment of absolute _agreement_ , and Tim slides his mouth from around Dick and Bruce pushes _in_ , and watches Tim's eyes narrow at Dick's whimper. 

Dick _reaches_ for Tim, and it's perfectly reasonable, perfectly _understandable_. Dick's erection is dark and slick with spit, resting in obscene temptation against the darkness of the suit's top. But Bruce squeezes harder, presses _deeper_ , and Dick jerks one hand back to clutch at his arm, rolling his head back and forth on Bruce's shoulder. 

"God -- _inside_ me --" 

And Tim makes a hurt noise and stands, tearing at his own suit. He pushes the shorts off entirely, sliding them past his boots before yanking down the tights and his own jock. He has never seen Tim... like this. He needs... "Dick." 

"Bruce. _Bruce_..." 

He forces himself to stop shoving in with his finger, and Dick whimpers and opens his eyes. 

_Widens_ his eyes and stares at Tim. "Oh, _yeah_." The return of Dick's focus is immediate, and he reaches for the boy with an easy hunger even as he tightens his grip on Bruce's arm. "Come here. I want... yes..." 

Tim slides one hand into Dick's hair and twines the other one with Dick's own, bringing it to his own hip. There is a curious _comfort_ in Dick's desire for the boy, in being able to see it on Dick's face before he has to admit he can _feel_ it behind his own. 

And it's something infinitely better than comfort to bury his face against Dick's throat, to let himself _feel_ the way Dick is flexing around his finger. To feel Dick _want_ this, even as... 

Bruce can feel Dick's throat working against his mouth, and looks up just in time to feel Tim's knees _knock_ against the arm he has around Dick's chest, because Dick is sucking Tim in, groaning around him and _pulling_ him in by the hip. His lips are stretched and wet. His ass is hot, _tight_ , and Bruce thrusts helplessly against his own working knuckles. 

"Dick," he says, and licks his way into Dick's ear and _wants_. 

And Dick's whimper is muffled, but it must feel -- 

" _Dick_ , oh _fuck_ \--" Tim sounds helpless. _Desperate_. 

He fucks Dick harder and lets himself look at Tim, lets himself _see_ the boy, arching away even as he pumps into Dick's mouth. His thighs are trembling, and the slap of his testicles against Dick's chin is almost mesmerizing. Dick's eyes are closed, and he's pushing _back_ against Bruce's finger fast -- faster than he wants to _do_ this, and Bruce bites Dick's ear and watches dark lashes flutter on Dick's cheeks and crooks his finger inside him. 

Tim tightens his hand in Dick's hair and shouts, shuddering, and Bruce presses his face against Dick's throat again in time to feel him swallowing. 

Tim sounds hurt, half-broken, and for a moment Bruce can't decide whether it's less intense than how Dick _feels_ , pressed against him and moving, still _moving_ , even when Tim drops back down to his knees and kisses Dick. 

But then Tim works his hands under Dick's arms and _between_ them, pulling, and Bruce does not want to know what his face looks like. Better to bury as much of that expression as possible against Dick's throat until he has some imitation of control back. When he looks up again, the darkly sardonic look in Tim's eyes tells him _everything_ he needs to know about how well that worked. 

"I want him down, Bruce. On me." 

"Bruce..." Dick doesn't still, but his voice is almost pleading. It would be too much to ask for Dick not to be... fair isn't the word. He had _chosen_ Tim, for his own reasons, and the fact that Bruce doesn't want to let Dick go now that he has him is no one's problem but his own. 

Possessive. 

He's almost sure he'll be amused tomorrow, assuming he manages to avoid ritual suicide. 

He kisses Dick's cheek as softly as he can manage and forces himself to uncurl his arm from around Dick's chest. Tim makes a soft, greedy sound and _pulls_ , yanking the tunic of his uniform up and spreading his legs around Dick's waist. 

And Dick purrs and reaches _back_ , grabbing Bruce's wrist and tugging until Bruce pushes his finger deep again. "Both of you. So sexy -- _oh_ \--" 

Bruce lets Dick direct the motion of his hand for as long as he can, but Dick is also _grinding_ down against Tim, and. 

The suit hides nothing, not one shift of muscle, and Bruce will never be able to watch Dick twisting and moving without thinking of this. Without remembering _this_ : 

The way Dick groans when Bruce bats his hand away, the way he immediately braces himself and rocks _back_ on him, the way he shakes when Bruce pulls out. 

He strokes the backs of Dick's thighs, cups his ass, cups his hips and pushes _down_ , grinding Dick harder into Tim. The boy gasps, and Dick feels so right in his hands, so _perfect_ , and it almost _hurts_ to take one hand away, even just for long enough to release the armor on his own suit and push his tights down. 

Bruce bites his lip at the feel of his own hand, at the feel of his own _slickness_ , and moves up over Dick's body. Heat beneath him, _motion_. 

" _Yes_ , Bruce, do it --" 

"I'm still _under_ you, Dick." 

"You can take it, kid," and Dick laughs, bracing himself on one hand again and reaching back to clutch at Bruce's thigh with the other, and it's... too much. 

Exactly _right_ , and Bruce slips in between Dick's thighs, gasping at the feel of it, at the way Dick _immediately_ tightens around him. 

" _Bruce_ \--" 

"What --" Tim's hands tighten on Dick's shoulders. "Oh. I can feel -- _oh_ \--" 

And Bruce watches Dick dive in to kiss the boy, and licks the sweat beading above the collar of Dick's uniform and -- 

_Thrusts_ \-- 

"Jesus -- _Bruce_ \--" 

And Dick shudders and takes his hand away from Bruce's thigh, bracing himself more steadily. _Flexing_ around Bruce and working his hips in short, sharp motions -- 

"I can't -- Bruce, make me _move_ \--" 

He growls against the back of Dick's neck and _slams_ down, sliding in the sweat and pre-ejaculate between Dick's thighs, sliding too much and not _enough_ , because Dick's thighs are exactly as powerful as they should be, because Dick is perfect, so perfect, and moaning into Tim's throat. 

Tim's eyes are wide and focused on _him_ and -- there is no reason to deny this, and no _way_ when the head of Bruce's penis brushes against the boy on every thrust. 

Tim shoves one hand into Dick's hair and... reaches up with the other, cupping Bruce's shoulder. 

It's -- 

"Oh. _Oh_ \--" 

And Bruce watches the boy rip his hand out of Dick's hair and shove it into his own mouth and knows _exactly_ what he's trying not to say. 

Interesting. 

And not at all irrelevant, even with Dick's body working between them, even with the smell of Dick's sweat making him _seize_ inside, making him _need_. Tim's hand on his shoulder is just another part of this. 

Tim's hand on his shoulder is _permission_ , and Bruce lowers himself, pushing Dick _down_ , and Dick shakes and -- resists. Until Bruce _bites_ the back of his neck, and Dick shouts something wordless and muffled by Tim's skin and Tim grunts and moans, breathless and _squeezing_ Bruce's shoulder. 

Bruce watches the boy's eyes roll back in his head and lets himself _feel_ it. Soft skin and hard muscle, the scent of them, _all_ of them, and the way Tim's sounds get quieter _and_ more desperate. The bend in Dick's neck, and the way every part of him _tenses_ when -- 

" _Bruce_..." 

Beautiful. Both of them. 

Bruce shifts just enough to balance on one hand and yanks hard on Tim's hair. And lets the sight of Tim's wide, shocky eyes drive him over the edge. 

Tim gives him... not long enough. He digs his short, even nails into Bruce's shoulder and _shoves_ until Bruce rolls off and away. 

And then he shoves at Dick, who rolls to his other side -- leaving one arm over Tim's chest. 

Bruce watches Tim glare at Dick, panting, and then Tim turns his attention to _him_. 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. 

"I can't believe you _both_ came on me." 

Bruce feels himself smile. "Complicated enough for you?" 

Tim's eyes... flare. And narrow. His smile looks like Bruce's feels. "Why don't we find out?" 

And the boy is far too spent for his moves to be anything but telegraphed, but Bruce isn't at his best, either. 

And Tim kisses like a man forced to use his fists instead of a favored weapon, angry and game. Bruce bites the boy's tongue. 

Lightly. 

And kisses back, moving up and holding on much too tightly until they're both on their knees. 

Desire is problematic. 

"Wow," Dick says, and Bruce pulls out of the kiss to find Dick staring at both of them, one hand sliding half-absently down the center of his chest. 

Tim makes a small, frustrated sound, and Bruce feels Tim's hand tighten in his hair. He doesn't have to look to know that Tim is staring at Dick's hand, too. 

"That has to be the most fucked-up kiss I've ever seen. And I can't say I'm shocked, I'm just..." 

Tim doesn't -- quite -- loosen his grip on Bruce's hair. "Re-evaluating your taste in men?" 

Dick smirks at Tim. "I don't get to be the healthy one _every_ day." And then he turns to look at Bruce, his smile... softening. "Right, Bruce?" 

"I'm still waiting for my chance to be the healthy one," and it falls out of his mouth with nothing resembling thought, but Tim chokes and Dick _smiles_ at him, open and genuinely happy. 

Beautiful and terrifying. 

Moreso when Dick crawls over to join them, wrapping a possessive arm around Tim's waist and not looking away from _him_. 

"I can't believe you got him to make a _joke_ ," Tim says into Dick's shoulder. 

"I kept _telling_ you," Dick says, and casually pushes and pulls on Tim until he's... between them, Tim's buttocks settled on Bruce's lap. 

Bruce blinks. "Is that... a suggestion?" 

Dick just gives him a sharper smile, and rubs Tim's shoulders. 

Tim looks back over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and almost entirely unreadable again. 

Almost. 

There is... no way on earth he can rationalize this as an effort to improve his partnership with the boy. 

The fact that it _might_ doesn't speak well for either of them. But then... 

Speaking well for them has always been Dick's responsibility. 

Bruce lets himself smile. Wider when Dick tightens his hands on Tim's shoulders, when Tim narrows his eyes. He drags his fingers down the back of Tim's tunic. 

And doesn't think about partnership at all. 

end. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fandom:  Other (Mixed Batverse)   
Title:   **Agonist, Synergist, Antagonist**   
Series Name:   **Natural Law**   
Author:   **Te**   [email]   [[website]](http://teland.com)   
Details:   **Series**  |  **NC-17**  |  ***slash***  |  **36k**  |  **03/25/04**   
Characters:  Bruce, Tim, Dick   
Pairings:  Bruce/Dick/Tim   
Summary:  It's a family affair. Okay, not really.   
  



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